Be Kind to Yourself
by Ali OMalley Cat
Summary: A story about how love can hurt as well as heal.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

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Insults swirl and cloud my mind as I watch the hot mess walking in front of me. Vicious and cruel I can't help think them. Split ends top off dull unwashed hair, her clothes hang unflatteringly on her overweight body and they've clearly been worn over and over. The bobble ridden top gets sucked into the folds of fat hanging over the back strap of her bra. A muffin top pours from the tops of her jeans and jiggles in time with her saggy, flabby ass. This girl is unattractive.

But don't worry nameless girl in front of me, these voices that hurl insults about you against my awash-with-guilt skull won't be directed at you for long. No, the only pain that really feeds their hunger is my own. You'll distract them for a while, giving me a bitter sweet relief that keeps me going. I hate how my insecurities make me lash out at you, I'm sorry my fucked up brain needs to pull you apart so hatefully in order to feel a shred of happiness. I'm disgusting. Oh god, they're done with you now, can you see.

Every embarrassing moment of my life squeezes my stomach, flips it around and around until I'm swallowing bile back passed the ball of humiliation and nausea that's lodged in my throat. I berate myself over things I did over ten years ago. Dragging myself over scalding hot coals of shame as I watch again and again as that shy new girl makes a fool of herself. Each wave of indignity is followed by the statement, "Oh, and remember when this happened…"

This cruel taunting can last for hours but it's only the beginning. Never satisfied with my cringing and squirming over those mortifying moments my sense of self-worth gets dragged into the spotlight. A lifetimes worth of failures flash into my head, each one tearing painfully at my heart. Friendships that have exploded in anger, school exams that fail to meet the standard and each tiny mistake at works drags me further into the dark pit of self-loathing.

They have a taste for my pain now and they've saved the best for last. I stand in front of the full length mirror in our room and wonder why you love me. Grease shines on my forehead so bright not even the thickest foundation can dull it down. Every inch of my body jiggles and wobbles with every tiny movement. I grab and pinch at the excess flab cursing the skinnier-than me co-worker who tempted me with a chocolate bar earlier.

I cup my breasts and lift them high, higher, before letting them fall back into place. The right is massively bigger than the left and one nipple points up while the other looks down. Tiny red pimples litter my body, the tops of my arms and décolletage suffering the worst.

I turn to scowl at my ass. Orange peel texture, that's how I've heard cellulite described before and I see why. A hard slap pinks my left butt cheek and sends ripples across and down to the tops of my thighs.

I spend hours buffing, waxing, plucking at this pathetic excuse of a body and I'm still nothing. Still not good enough. And that's why you cheated isn't it? I know, I know. It was a mistake, one that was made over a year ago, and you love me, but it still haunts me. She still haunts me.

And even though I've seen her, up close and personal as she gushed over how lucky I was to have you and how nice of a person I was, and know that her looks aren't any better than mine in my head she is. In my head she's a goddess that rivals even Aphrodite's beauty.

I see her when you hold me, when your lips press against me and when you whisper your love against my skin. I see her every time you don't come when we fuck. I see her in every, "not tonight, baby. I'm tired." I see her with every throwaway comment that guts me. You've become careless with my sensitivity because you don't hear me when I scream.

Loud, throat hurting, soul destroying screams pour from my eyes almost every night as we lie in bed. With my face pressed into my pillow I let the pain flow hot and salty from my tired eyes. My body convulsing with sobs I try to hide from you. Maybe I shouldn't try so hard. You've never noticed. Why don't you notice me?

"Because you're pathetic. A disgusting, needy mess that couldn't possibly give him what he needs." The voices tear at my flesh; rip through muscle and viscera until they've clawed their way into my soul. My hearts a raggedy mess as it lays in tatters at your feet.

I crawl into bed, into our bed, to hide. From the voices, the world and you. I used to sleep to escape but they follow me into my dreams now. Leaking into the happy and discolouring everything with vile hatred for myself. I repeat the phrase, "I hate myself." So many times in a day it's become my mantra.

You find me there, cocooned in blankets and your shirt. You climb in with me and pull me close. It chases the voices away, loosens my chest and allows me to breathe easy for the first time that day. I sigh against your chest, loving how good your heat feels. How good your strength feels holding me above the bitingly mean waters, your heart beat like a beacon in the night.

Soft kisses against my head soothe me into sleep. Today's been a rough day, maybe the voices will be sated and I'll sleep. Tomorrow stretches ahead of me long and exhausting. This can't go on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

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Anger, hot, red and all-consuming, burns through my veins like acid. I'm so _angry_ at myself for believing you. For believing that you could change and for believing that _I_ could ever be enough. You've done it again haven't you? It's Thursday and you should have finished work nearly two hours ago, so where the fuck are you?

I know where, I can picture it oh so painfully in my head. She's pretty, prettier than me obviously, this girl I've never met. This girl who so easily pulls you away from me, from us. In my head I watch you kiss her smooth skin, grip her tiny waist and fuck her the way you used to fuck me before I got fat. Before you fed me up with cake and lies about how you'll always think I'm the prettiest girl in the world.

She grips you _so good_, so much better than I do, pumping you closer and closer to feeling like a god. You come for her every time don't you? You're never too tired for her are you? Even when she's covered in the sweat of you both, and with mascara smudges and fucked up hair she's still breath taking. You watch her the way you used to watch me.

I hate her. I hate _you_. But most of all I hate myself and what I've let you do to me. I sit at home; cuddling the dog and clutching my wine glass while this anger, this vile _hatred_ for myself festers deep down in my soul. Putrid, rancid, disgusting self-hatred bubbles and oozes in me, on me. I want to scream and cry and hurt something, _you_, anything, as much as you've hurt me. It's too much to keep inside. Too damaging.

And finally your home. You know, as soon as you look at the black mascara tears tracking their way down my face and into my now empty wine glass, what I've been thinking. Where my thoughts have been. You kneel in front of me, kissing my white knuckled fists, and asking me to tell you what's wrong.

I ask where you've been, waiting for the lies to slide smooth as glass from your tongue. Your brows furrow in confusion, those beautiful eyes _begging_ me to not do this and your soft-as-clouds lips pucker as you think real hard about how you say your next sentence. "Baby, I've been at work. I told you I was working a close tonight."

Bile rises up, sticking in my throat and burning my words. "You told me you were finishing no later than ten tonight. And you text me _over an hour_ ago that you were leaving in five minutes." My voice waivers and my lips tremble in anticipation for your excuses.

"I did leave then, sweetheart. I text you, got changed and then by the time I walked to the car and drove home that makes it just over an hour." Your voice is full of pleading, you need me to hear the truth but I'm still too stuck in that vision of you and the fantasy girl.

"It doesn't take that long to get home from the restaurant." I've got you now; you forgot you told me you were working so close to home tonight. The confusion on your face makes me want to claw the truth from it.

"I wasn't at the restaurant tonight, I'm there tomorrow, Thursday and Friday." The corner of your mouth lifts as you watch the realisation that I've gotten my days confused bloom on my face. Today is Wednesday.

"Oh, yeah. I—I thought it was Thursday." I look down at our hands shamefully. Yours are cradling mine so gently. I can feel the relief starting to creep in but the doubt in my mind isn't fully satisfied yet. I lick my lips nervously, I _hate_ asking you this. I hate how it makes me _feel_, but I know I won't be able to sleep until I do. "Could I—would you be angry if I asked to read your messages?"

I hear the smile in your voice. "No, baby. Of course you can read them." And then you hand me your phone.

I scroll through everything. Texts, Kik, Whatsapp and Facebook. Nothing. Well obviously there are messages there, but nothing that crushes my heart. The vision of you and the imaginary slut dissipates and fades from my mind as I find no proof of infidelity. And the relief surges through me, leaving me light headed and guilty. I apologise but you don't mind, _you_ apologise for making me feel like I need to look.

Soft kisses, tight embraces and gentle caresses carry us up to bed where we lie tangled up in each other's limbs and I love you's. It's been a while since I've freaked out that bad. Maybe I'm starting to finally trust you, _us_, again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

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I'm at a party, a work colleague's daughter turned eighteen and she invited the whole office, and despite the fact that the venue is crappy, and the DJ's even worse, I'm actually having a good time. I was brave while getting ready and tried a dress on I haven't been able to fit into for a while, and holy fuck a duck it fit! The way my smile lit up my face could have even made the sun jealous.

I'm positively giddy. The voices in my head have decided to stay home tonight and I'm so, so grateful. I don't wanna be that girl sitting alone and quiet in the corner while she rips herself apart internally. I'm not that girl tonight. Tonight I am smiles and cute dresses. I am witty banter and hilarious jokes. I am smiling and fun. I am me before you.

But don't you look so handsome tonight too. Turning up with only an hour left of the party because you had to work. I was apprehensive about being here alone—if you weren't here who would fend off the voices?—but you weren't needed for emotional support tonight. Aren't you proud darling?

Your Cheshire grin only-for-me smile says you are and you bend down to kiss me. I want nothing more than to pucker my lips and reach up onto my tippy toes and kiss your lips, but I have this hideous cold saw that I'm trying to ignore and I don't want you to catch it. I turn my head at the last moment so your soft as silk lips hit my cheek instead. The frown on your face as you pull back squeezes my heart.

"I'd love a kiss, darling, but I have a hideous cold saw and I don't want you to catch it." I smile apologetically at you hoping to sooth the hurt that my sort-of-rejection caused you.

But then you're bending down and your palm is cradling my face while your lips envelope mine in love. I smile just as wide as you do as you pull back.

"I don't care about that I just want to kiss my baby. Besides I don't get them, I'm a carrier." And with a cheeky wink you've turned away to greet my friends and get us a drink from the bar.

If you'd stayed you would notice the light leaving my eyes and the way my shoulders sag with invisible weight. You'd see that the voices have swarmed in and I'm drowning in sadness. What do you mean you're a carrier? Have you been kissing someone else to give this to me? I'm not even sure if it is a cold saw any more.

And now I'm that girl, the sad lonely girl sitting in the corner by herself at a party. I'm too busy trying to contain my tears to fight the voices and they tear into me with vigour. My insecurities and fears make a fantastic feast for my demons.

You come back to me with alcohol and a smile but I can't even lift my head. It's too full of heart ache and so, so heavy with sadness. I miss the happy already. I wish I was strong enough to hold onto it. You ask me what's wrong and I don't want to tell you, not here, because it will ruin the night, but mine's already ruined and if I don't ask you the not knowing will drive me mad.

I clutch onto your arm for strength, and maybe to show you that I hate that I'm saying this, and I whisper as quietly as I can in a room with a DJ and six speakers, "When you said you were a carrier—well what did you mean? I—have you been kissing other girls?"

I get a little bit of courage and glance up at you because if I'm going to accuse you it's the least I can do to give you eye contact. But oh how I wish I hadn't. The utter devastation that's written on your face cuts me open quicker than the sharpest blade ever could. I feel like my insides are spilling from me, my intestines and other organs pooling at my feet. I feel sick with guilt.

You take a deep breath and try to reign in the pain that's so raw in your summer green eyes. "No, baby, I haven't. I only said it to make you feel better about me kissing you." And then your summer green eyes turn spring like as they dampen like the April showers.

We stay like that for a little while, clutching each other's hands and staring with watery eyes, we're both trying so hard to stay in control. The guilt that flows from me mingles with the guilt coming from you until we're sat in a cloud of toxic thoughts. I ruined tonight, I have to fix it.

Taking a deep breath I wrestle the voices back, and I pull the love I have for you in close as I try to be brave. "We have to stop doing this to each other. I have to forgive you and learn to trust you and you need to stop torturing yourself every time you hurt my feelings. What's done is done and I said I'd forgive you, it's time to move on."

I feel dizzy from my declaration, I'm happy that I've said it but so terrified that I may have lied to you. I send out a quick prayer to a god I don't believe in that I can get over this. I want—need—to get over it.

You give me a watery yet hopeful smile and once we've pulled ourselves together we say our goodbyes to the other party goers and head home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

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I think we're dying. I think _I'm_ dying. Everything hurts, my heart the most, but every single breath I take feels like I'm breathing in glass. Every thought wounds me, every movement breaks bones and my tears feel like acid on my skin.

We sit on separate couches and go to bed at separate times. You barely look at me but when you do there's an emptiness there that terrifies me. Your words are hollow and when you touch me it's ghost like.

I've stopped trying to get your attention because it gets me nothing but frustration and heart ache. What you once found sexy and alluring now bores you. Any and all advances are—were—from me. Trying to remember the last time you came on to me is like trying to remember someone you've never met. We only touch now to say hello or goodnight, and it's always chaste and innocent.

I've tried everything to turn you on, new toys, kinky new games, but nothing holds your interest. On the rare occasion you respond to my come-to-bed eyes and whispered words of pleasure we barely get started before you've lost your lustre. If I have to hear—"Sorry, baby, I'm really tired."—One more time I'm gonna scream and I don't know if I could stop.

I take daily, hour long showers now so I can curl under the hot spray and cry as long and as much as I need. Even after all this time I still can't let you see me break down. I took you back and I don't want you to spend the rest of our lives feeling guilty, but now my soul aches and I need you.

I need you to see that I'm not okay. I need you to see that your rejection crucifies me. I need you. This insecurity has nothing to do with your mistake. This feeling of worthlessness, of ugliness, comes from your lack of attention.

On the car ride home today I told you, in the space of five minutes, how good you looked five times in five different ways. Your response? A wink and an, "it's all for you, baby." And then a cheesy little wink.

I used to love that wink. It would cause my cheeks to flame and ridiculous girlish giggles would bubble up from my heart. But now it kills me. Is it really so hard for you to say something nice about me?

I spend fifty percent of my time thinking that tonight is the night I tell you we're over because I can't keep doing this. I can't keep feeling like this. It's always pain. I'm drowning in it. But then my heart starts to palpitate and it cries out for you because I _fucking love you_.

People aren't supposed to just walk away from love, but I don't know how to fix this. Fix us. Me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This was (partly) beta'd by the amazing and beautiful chinchin unicorn (because I added a few more bits and bobs after she looked at it). I can't begin to tell you how much I love her. All mistakes are mine.**

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It's just after midnight when I hear you come in from work, slamming the door behind you. The lateness I'm used to, but the slamming is new. You left for work in a funny mood this morning, and it seems you've let it fester all day. Yay for me.

As you stomp up the stairs, I close my eyes in the hope that you'll buy the lie that I'm sleeping. You burst into the room and turn the light on, so I guess that hope is just wishful thinking. My back is to the room, and even though I feel you staring at me, I still don't turn to face you. I'm tired of fighting with you…and for you. Loving you is so exhausting.

"I know you aren't sleeping." Your voice is flat, monotone, deadpan.

I roll my eyes because duh, but you don't take my silence and keep pushing.

"We need to talk about those texts." There's a slight waiver in your voice, but you don't let your control slip, so I can't quite figure out what how you're feeling.

At the mention of texts, icy dread freezes my body. You can't know, not about those messages. I turn to face you slowly, careful to keep my face blank and void of all emotion. This is how we play this game that we're so familiar with. We use blank stares and a cold façade as our ammunition, and the first one to crack loses.

"I didn't get any texts from you. I've been sleeping." The puzzlement in my voice lets you know I'm not just going to give up all of my secrets.

In a new tactic for this so-old-game you don't beat around the bush. "Not from me, love. The ones from him." Your honesty and matter-of-fact voice leaves me completely speechless.

"I—I—it's nothing. I swear." My voice is breathy with fear because as much as it hurts to love you sometimes, I don't want it to end. And this could completely destroy us.

You crawl onto the bed as you reply to my almost confession, "You flirting with another man is nothing, huh?"

My heart skips a beat at your words as you finally hover over me. I reach up with both hands to hold your face because when you're this close to me I can't not touch you, but you grip my wrists so tight and pin me to the bed instead. Now my fear of losing you is mixed with the fear that maybe you aren't as in control as you portray.

Your body presses in between my legs so that they fall on either side of your hips, and your normally gentle hands have mine pinned above my head. We're chest to chest with our faces just far enough apart to be able to see the other clearly. The position screams intimacy and love; it's such a contradiction to the fury burning in your eyes.

"Do you have any idea how fuckin' crazy reading those messages made me?" You spit the words at me through clenched teeth.

All I can do is shake my head but you want answers.

"Why?" Your voice is so low with anger and hurt, your words are growled out through your tight jaw.

My heart aches as I see the pain wet your eyes. We fight and yell and slam doors and throw things, but we don't hurt each other… not like this. A sob sticks in my throat as I realise what I've done.

"I'm sorry," I whisper with as much sincerity as I can. I'm too ashamed for my voice to rise any higher.

"You're sorry? I have to read you flirting with another man and you're sorry?!" Your hands tighten as your voice gets louder, but it's the anguish in your words that hurts the most.

I start to plead as we both start to cry. You drop your head so your stubble-covered cheek rubs against my smooth one. Our tears mingle and our hearts beat together. I hear them calling to each other. They know where they belong, but our fucked up games are keeping them apart. It's agony.

Your breathing is ragged, and it's loud in my ear. I bet mine is a mirror of yours. I don't know how to move on from this. Normally we fight and then fuck and then love but this time is different.

You tilt your face slightly, and I feel your soft lips pucker against my jaw. A thrill runs through me. Maybe this time isn't so different. Your kisses get closer and closer to my lips causing my heart to palpitate with the anticipation.

Your lips on mine are gentle at first but then your anger takes over again and suddenly you're pressing your mouth over mine in a bruising kiss. Your teeth sting my lips as your fingers squeeze my wrist. I feel your cock harden as you grind against me, the denim of you trousers rough against the soft cotton of my pyjamas. Any illusion that this was going to be gentle is long gone.

In a flurry of clothes, bruising fingers and nipping teeth, we are naked. As you push into me you slide one hand down to my throat, not squeezing, just resting. So I know that I'm yours. The pace is fast and punishing. You slam into me harder and harder, the tip of your cock bouncing against my cervix over and over, causing pain and pleasure to blur into one. My heels dig into your ass the way my hands want to dig my nails into your shoulders, but you have my wrists pinned above our heads so I'm helpless.

"You're mine. Say it." The possessive demand is followed by an almost too painful bite on my jaw, and the resulting moan from me is filled with hurt and want, much like our relationship.

"I'm yours. Fuck, I love you." There are tears in my eyes as I scream the truth for you.

It doesn't take you long to finish. The guilt festering in my stomach is too sickening to allow my climax to come. No sooner have you pumped your release into me you're rolling away, leaving me cold and sticky.

You perch on the side of the bed, your head in your hands and your back to me.

"Why?" The question, while spoken softer this time, hits me just as hard.

I'm ugly-crying now, and talking is a struggle, but I answer. "Because you've been ignoring me. You barely look at me anymore and you haven't touched me in months. I feel so… so unattractive, and I responded to his flirting because I wanted the attention you weren't giving me."

A sharp fuck bursts from your mouth before you roll back into bed beside me. And then you're holding me, your hand's rubbing the goose bumps away. We're cocooned in warm soft blankets, and I smile because this is how it's supposed to be.

"I'm sorry." It's whispered against my head, and your breath tickles the tiny hairs on my hairline.

I just squeeze you harder. There's nothing I can say that I haven't said a million times before. Your indifference towards me isn't a recent development, and I've lost count of the arguments we've had because of it.

"I didn't mean for it to push you away. It's just that I…" Your excuses trail off, and it hurts just as much this time as the first.

"I'm not sure how we can go on if you aren't attracted to me anymore." My voice is weak despite how strong the words sound.

"Baby, of course I find you attractive. This is all me. My issue. It's—fuck—if I tell you, you'll be disgusted." Your voice has as much strength as mine did as you stumble over your explanation.

I'm shocked to hear such degradation for yourself clouding your voice. It must taste so bitter in a mouth that's so used to confidence and love.

"Tell me what? You know you can tell me anything." My insides freeze as I wait for what feels like a confession. I daren't look at you for fear of what I'll see in your eyes.

You exhale heavily, and then you tell me with words filled with shame and self-loathing. "The reason I haven't been as… interested in sex is because—Jesus I can't believe I'm saying it—even though I'm one hundred percent straight I—I wantyoutofuckmyasswithyourvibrator."

The way you rush through the end of your explanation—confession?—has me wondering if I actually heard you right.

"You want me to fuck you with a _vibrator_?"

You don't respond, but I feel you nodding against my head as humiliation radiates from you. I can't believe this is why I've felt fat and worthless and just utterly disgusting all these months. I should be furious at you for keeping secrets, but also at myself for letting you bring me so far down. I'm just so overjoyed that it really was your issues and it had nothing to do with me that the anger can't get a good grip on me.

"I can't believe you. Why did you think I wouldn't be okay with that? When I go down on you I always travel further south than your balls, and you've had no issue with me massaging your prostate with my finger, and obviously that hasn't been an issue for me." My voice has gone up a few octaves because I'm just so… so… _incredulous_ that you thought you had to hide it from me.

"I guess I've never thought of it that way. Introducing a toy just seemed to make it more…"

"Gay?" The frustration in my voice is clear and when I look up at you, you at least have the decency to look sheepish.

"I can't believe all this time I've been tearing myself down because you were too scared to talk to me. You know I'll do anything to make you feel good. I can't count how many times I've said it."

"I'm sorry. I was just worried this was one step too far." I can still hear a little of the initial shame in your voice, but there's hope—and maybe even awe too—creeping in and that makes me smile.

I scoff at your ridiculous words but snuggle into you closer. Relief floods through me like adrenaline stretching my smile wider and wider until I'm laughing. I feel so high right now.

"You're a stupid ass you know that?" My voice is playful and you start to laugh right along with me.

You slide down the bed a little so we're eye to eye and the smile on your face is gorgeous. I'll never get over how handsome you are. You brush the hair out of my eyes with gentle fingers and I melt. This is the softness I've been craving and to finally have it is soul soothing.

"I can't believe you're going to do this for me." Your words are full of soft wonder and I feel so incredible that I've given you something you thought you could never have.

I shake my head because I can't believe you thought there was a limit to my love.

You wrap me up in your arms and then tuck us into the feather soft covers. With the outside world shut out and my nose filled with the intoxicating scent of you, we fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

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Thirteen months have passed. Thirteen months of fake smiles and false bravado. Of hiding real feelings and cracking hearts. Of pretending to want the same things and making plans. After thirteen months, we are over. Done. The end.

We spent the last year thinking of a future that not only involved the two of us but hopefully a tiny little mixture of us both as well. I imagined your hair colour and friendly disposition. You dreamt of my pretty mouth in a small package of sweetness. What we got was empty draws and a hurt so big you could drown in it.

I feel all of the possibilities flood around me as I lie in our—my—bed. They swarm over me, crushing me under the weight of almost and I suffocate. I choke on unfulfilled dreams. My feather down pillows catch my tears and swallow my screams.

I can feel you in the next room. Circumstances haven't allowed us any room to move on. Every awkward encounter in the kitchen, the landing or waiting to use the bathroom leaves ragged lacerations that fester with pain. This is what we have been reduced to, averted eyes and agony.

How am I supposed to get over you. You were my best friend, my lover, my everything.

I can't breathe if you aren't here to give me a reason to. My chest aches with the emptiness, and every inhale is restricted. A constant scream of anguish clogs my throat. I spend my days walking around in a daze and my nights weeping for you.

The hardest part, for me, is forgiving myself for letting you lie to me again. I gave you a second chance to break me like this. My poor, tattered heart was given back to you under my own free will and you ripped me apart. Again.

The lies swirl in my thoughts constantly which causes my stomach to follow suit. How could you do this? How could I have let this happen again? Why must I always be the strong one? Because I am. Strong.

I was the one that tried to fix us. I was the one who patched herself together enough to give love a second chance. I was the one who broke it off with the lying, immature, selfish bastard that you are! I am strong!

And I will be the one who puts herself back together. And I will be the one who gives love a third chance and it sure as fuck won't be with you!

Seven more days and I will be free. Seven more days and I can try to find some hope. Just seven more days and I'll be back at the beginning. Back to my father and the tiny box room at the back of my childhood home.

This is my new beginning. This is the start of me without you.

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_**Sorry It's been so long. It's been a rough year. I'm kinda rusty too so I'm sorry if this doesn't read well.**_


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